


Shadows of the Past

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Bars and Pubs, Clothed Sex, Come Shot, Depressed Alcoholic Cain, Disability, Disabled Character, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Fights, Gloves, Groping, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Hurt No Comfort, Just How I Like Him, Leather, Lube, M/M, Making Out, Mars, Mars Colony Life, Not Canon Compliant, One Night Stands, Politics, Post-War, Rare Pairings, Scars, Using Appropriate Amounts of Lube, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: Struggling to readjust to life in the colonies after the Colteron War ends, Cain unexpectedly runs into a figure from his past.





	Shadows of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 2 of the Starfighter Summer Challenge I’ve chosen to go with the “Mars Colony Life” theme. This fic departs from canon after the Reliant crash lands on Mars, and is set many months in the future from then.
> 
> If you’re trying to remember who the Agent is, see page 5-34 in the comic.

It was starting to snow when Alexei left his sister’s place. He hated the snow; it always made his breaths feel even tighter than they were already, burning with cold even through the thick, woolly red scarf he’d wrapped around his face to protect it from the frigid air. But he hated living in the shithole back room of Anna’s place in these shithole colony outskirts even more.

She’d been in a sour mood since coming back from work, and Alexei had fucking had it with her sniping at him about job hunting. He needed to get out, so brave the snow it was.

 _Can’t believe I actually dreamed about making it back here_ , he thought, fighting the urge to shiver with a sudden gust of wind.

Anna was losing patience with him. It was only a matter of time before she kicked him out on his undeserving ass. He didn’t look forward to the prospect of not having a roof over his head any more. Of having to go into the city center bubble of New Volga, and skulk around looking for odd jobs. Or men on business from Earth who wanted a pretty mouth to use in a bar bathroom or narrow alley, anonymous credit transfers and no questions asked.

 _At least they didn’t fuck up my face,_ he interrupted his own stream of consciousness to grit out a “Tch!”, _So long as no assholes want me to take off my shirt, ‘s all fine._

Twilight on Mars was dim and grey in the overcast sky. It just highlighted the dull colourlessness of the buildings he passed. Older style environmentally-controlled, square-ish dome houses dotted the road through the suburban sprawl; completely utilitarian with their tiny horizontal slit windows and visible ventilation and heating tubes. They stood out like little dark mounds among the reddish, dusty soil quickly being obscured by off-white snow. He continued trudging towards his destination, hoping to get there before the lightly acidic precipitation started to burn his eyes too much. He pulled his hood further down over his brow, grumbling wordlessly.

_Should’ve brought a fucking mask._

Alexei would’ve spat at the mural advertisement he passed on his way to the bar, if it hadn’t meant exposing more of his skin to the howling winds and stinging snow crystals. On the side of a shop that had seen better days was painted a Colta-Cola ad proclaiming:

**New Limited Edition Flavour! Martian Mosswater!**

It was framed with anti-‘Teron graffiti slogans like “GO HOME BUGS” and “Never forget the Frontier”. Someone had ‘x’-ed out the face of an illustrated Colteron holding a bottle of the stuff, clinking it against one held by an idealized vision of a colonist woman. She was all dark, glossy hair and pale skin and eyes—the word “traitor” scrawled messily across her forehead in bright red spray paint a contrast to the smile on her face as she apparently enjoyed sharing a drink with the enemy.

That kind of graffiti wouldn’t have been tolerated in the city center. It would’ve been cleaned off within a day, and the perpetrator thrown into the correctional facility, more than likely. Too many cops trying to scare the colonist population into subservient obedience, getting them on even the most minor of offences. Or imagined offences, at least half the time. Upholding Alliance “values” or whatever the fuck they claimed to be doing. Damn pigs.

Out here in the suburbs, though, there weren’t nearly as many patrols, so the graffiti multiplied.

 _Fucking Alliance,_ thought Alexei as he slogged onward through the growing drifts, _Trade treaty’s barely a month old and this shit’s everywhere. No fucking respect for anyone who was face-to-face with the ‘Terons._

He shouldn’t have been surprised, given his own experience with their ethics. They didn’t give a fuck what had happened to Mars or the colonists there. They just saw an opportunity to profit by getting in bed with their erstwhile adversary.

Even once he’d gotten inside, shaken the snow from his jacket, unwound his scarf, and plunked himself down on a barstool, Alexei couldn’t find any peace. As soon as the bartender had brought him his beer and taken his money, she was all up in his space, and not in the fun way.

“So, planning on coming to the meeting tomorrow?”

“Fuck off, Yulia,” he said, without any heat behind it, “’m not getting involved in that shit.”

She eyed him from behind the bar, clearly unimpressed, “You really should. It looks good to have more veterans on our side. Besides, it’d give you something to do besides sit here and rot.”

She kept rambling about whatever new grassroots activist bullshit group had sprung up this week. She was always going on about a new one. He sipped his drink, nodding occasionally and hoping business would pick up so she’d leave him alone. He could appreciate the anti-‘Teron sentiment, but fuck if he was going to stick his neck out over it.

 _Going back to prison is_ not _happening_ , he thought, no room for dissenting opinion.

Even if it would mean a roof over his head once Anna got sick of him.

Besides, those bleeding-heart assholes had ruined his favourite thing on this entire shitty, freezing planet. Their meetings and rallies were always being held by the burnt up piece of the _Frontier_ that had landed outside the city limits. They’d practically turned it into some kind of pilgrimage spot.

_No more looking out into the universe alone. Just pamphlets and signature requests for the latest fucking petition._

Luckily it wasn’t too long before a small group of customers entered and she dropped the lecture to go and earn some tips, instead. _Girl’s got her priorities straight._

As he continued to down his beer, he wondered where Mikhail was. Usually he’d be at the bar by now. Low chatter was beginning to form a noticeable buzz in the background, occasionally interrupted by a more boisterous exclamation or curse-filled ranting. It was getting towards peak hours. Nobody else Alexei knew well was here, or someone would’ve come to join him by now.

_Oh well, fuck ‘em._

The better to get drunk quick, he figured, not having anyone worth talking to. He took another gulp and let himself zone out a bit, staring at the peeling posters on the wall in front of him, the small selection of liquor bottles, and the dull metal work surfaces. But not having conversation partners meant he was alone with his own thoughts again. Always circling the same fucking things, never moving on or figuring out how to fix them, just wallowing in stupid, useless self-pity like the loser he was.

No wonder Abel hadn’t stuck around for very long. Not that he’d been expecting the navigator to, after that final day aboard the _Sleipnir_ and all the shit that had gone down.

Once they’d been let off the charges of desertion and treason—no doubt the work of Abel’s fancy fucking politician father pulling some strings—it hadn’t even been a full week before he’d booked a ticket back to Earth. A single ticket. Told Cain he’d decided it was a bad idea to stay together, but maybe they’d see each other again some day, yadda yadda, whatever would help him justify the decision to himself.

Not for the first time, Alexei wondered how much of that decision had rested on his poor recovery from the gunshot wound. By the time Abel must have been sorting out the trip back to Earth, he’d mostly healed; enough for a better long-term prognosis, anyway. It sucked more than getting shot in the first place had. He wasn’t going to feel like he’d gotten a full breath ever again. The tight, dull ache in his chest was probably there to stay, too.

 _Just another fucked up vet who can’t get work,_ he thought bitterly.

There was no way a factory would take on someone who couldn’t do manual labour for a full shift. Never finished his education, what with being locked up, so even the lowliest office or government jobs were out, too.

Alexei took another swig of his cheap beer, which tasted stale going down. It was a vicious cycle; being unable to find work, trying to forget about it by coming out and drinking away his Alliance separation pay, account balance getting lower each time, so he felt even more pressured to find work. He knew he spent too much time in the bar, trying not to think about what he’d do when his credits ran out.

It wasn’t long before his glass was empty, but he didn’t bother calling over Yulia to refill it just yet. Needed to steel himself for round two of her proselytizing. Instead, he glanced around the bar for the first time since entering. The dark silhouette of a man caught his attention. He almost didn’t believe his eyes.

 _What the fuck is_ he _doing here?_

At a small table in an alcove which was hidden by the way the door swung inward, sat a man he hadn’t seen in well over two years now. Since before basic training. A man he hadn’t expected to see ever again. The Agent.

The tall, dark, mysterious Alliance agent who had come to the New Volga Correctional Facility. Come to speak with _him_. Offered him a deal; a chance to escape his sentence early, and get his record wiped clean.

All it would cost him was a term of service in the military and participation in a special, top-secret program they were developing. Project Thebes.

Alexei would have recognized that face anywhere. Not because it was particularly striking or unusual—quite the opposite in fact. It was a face which would blend into any crowd on Mars. Dark, hooded eyes set a little too far up in his long, flat face, and high but shallow cheekbones providing little definition to paler-than-average skin for a colonist. But as a younger man, trapped in the hellish conditions of prison, it had seemed the face of his salvation. He’d dreamt of that face more than once during the war.

Now he wanted to punch it in.

He hauled himself off the bar stool, letting out a quiet grunt as his side spasmed with the sudden movement. Walking over, he tried to keep his breathing steady and even, to not show any hint of weakness.

As he approached, the Agent gave no sign of having noticed anyone, staring down at a half-full glass of vodka casually grasped in one hand, arm stretched along the table. Alexei bristled at the feigned obliviousness. There was no way the other man hadn’t spied him the minute he’d come through the door. Would probably have been keeping a watch on him this entire time. His suspicions were all but confirmed when he slammed a hand down on the table top, making it wobble unevenly.

The Agent didn’t even flinch. Just looked up at him slowly, completely unperturbed and expression blank. It made Alexei want to scream.

“The hell are you doing here?” he asked instead.

That deep, dark stare just bored into him without wavering or revealing even the slightest hint of an answer. The Agent took a sip from his glass and set it down again, but didn’t answer.

“You gonna say something or not, asshole? Don’t fucking ignore me.”

Alexei lost patience more quickly than he’d wanted to, the impassive lack of response driving him to the breaking point too soon. He yanked the Agent up by the open collar of a long, dark coat—still thinking just enough to do so with the arm of his good side.

“Sorry, do I know you?” asked the taller man in a flat tone, straightening on his feet so that Alexei was forced to lift his arm higher to keep a hold on him.

 _Fucker_ , he thought, knowing he was opening himself up, leaving his ribs exposed and vulnerable. If the Agent had a knife and wanted to use it he’d have no problem getting in there.

Alexei lowered his hold quickly, slamming his palm flat against the Agent’s chest, sending the man back against the metal wall with a dull _thunk_ answered by his chair clattering to the side. He could feel himself begin to huff for air a little more, and hear it too, the atmosphere around them falling eerily silent.

“Don’t gimme that shit. You know exactly who I am,” he said, lowering his voice, partly because everyone in the bar was bound to be listening with rapt attention now, and partly to avoid straining and making his breath come any faster than it already was.

The Agent just looked down that stupidly long nose at him.

“You’ve gotta be a real piece of work to ruin a guy’s life and not even remember his fucking face, y’know?”

“You’d still be rotting in prison if it weren’t for me,” came the whispered response, the Agent leaning ever so slightly forward to deliver it right up beside Alexei’s ear. Then stepping aside and out of his hold.

“Tch! Fuck right off!”

The Agent shrugged and brushed past him, doing up the high collar of his coat and pulling on a matching black, fur-lined hat as he strode the handful of steps over to the door without further discussion.

If Alexei’s teeth hadn’t been gritted so tight already, his jaw might have fallen open at the shock of just being dismissed like that. Instead, he took a step forward to follow the man out. The clear glint of a glass still half-full on the table caught his eye and he paused. Downing what was left of the Agent’s drink in one go, he threw his hood back over his head, not even bothering to fuss with the scarf still hanging loose around his neck.

 _‘Course he sprung for something decent_ , thought Alexei bitterly even as he appreciated the smooth, even character of the mid-range vodka. Better than anything he’d tasted since before enlisting—possibly ever—that was for sure.

He opened the door without looking back at anyone in the bar, not wanting to see the curious stares their little scuffle had attracted. Stepping out into the freezing winds again, he fought a shiver and hoped the booze would kick in sooner rather than later.

“HEY!” he called after the Agent, who was already two buildings down the sparsely populated street.

He had to break into a bit of a jog to catch up to the man, who was striding quickly and purposefully down the snowy path. The cold wind burned at his lungs and he supressed a cough. The effort made his chest feel even tighter.

“Hey! What the hell, man?”

“I thought you wanted me to leave?” said the Agent without looking at him, gaze aimed into the distance.

“Not without giving me a fucking explanation, you bastard.”

“No explanation necessary,” the man responded, sounding completely disinterested, “We were at war. I did what I had to. All I did was my job, and I was good at it.”

“Aghh! _Fuck!_ ”

Alexei shoved the Agent into the rusted, deteriorating wall of an older, abandoned building. He must have caught the asshole by surprise this time; the smack with which his body hit the metal was much more satisfying, less controlled than in the bar.

“You can’t even apologize, huh? Can’t even give half a shit what happened to the kids you pulled into that war?” his voice was rising steadily, threatening to crack with anger, not helped by the freezing air invading his throat, “Can’t say it, _can you?_ Go on, tell me you’re SORRY!”

Alexei could barely comprehend the speed with which he went from upright to laid out on the snow-covered ground. The Agent had flipped him effortlessly, and what little cushioning the thin layer of frozen precipitation provided wasn’t enough to keep the breath from rushing out of his lungs. It felt like being back in his sickbed after the crash, struggling for each breath.

The boot-clad foot which came to rest over his neck didn’t help; bearing down just enough that he felt his windpipe close slightly.

He looked up into a calm, cool, collected face. The Agent didn’t show any signs of exertion. A total contrast to his own aggravated state. He felt too hot and was starting to break a sweat from his efforts, but also felt the effects of the cold inside his chest as he gasped for air, pain radiating from the site of the now-healed blaster wound. If he’d had the breath to, he would have growled. As it was, he could only glare up at the other man, brows drawn together with fury.

“It’s a pity to see you’ve changed,” said the Agent, emotionless, “You were so obedient, before. Such a good little soldier.”

Alexei spat on the boot below his chin.

The Agent didn’t react, just lifted his foot and rubbed the offending spot against the side of Alexei’s face. The feel of cold, hard leather scraping against his cheek was worth the sudden relief in his throat, additional airflow helping his breathing even out a little.

“You used to be so eager to please,” the Agent tutted, looking down at him as he might a cockroach. No, not even a cockroach. A spot of dust, something insubstantial and not worth bothering with.

Yet there was something new in the space between them. A spark that wouldn’t need much to light up and burn. Alexei felt arousal stir in his gut, an almost forgotten sensation.

The Agent extended an arm and pulled Alexei up when he took his hand. Then it was his turn to be pressed up against the wall—the cold of the metal felt less piercing against the heat growing within him. His head swam. Whether from the head rush of getting vertical too quickly or the vodka starting to hit, Alexei couldn’t tell.

One thing was certain, though. His blood was going anywhere but back to his brain as he felt a gloved hand cup him firmly between the legs.

A short, fine brow ticked up slightly as the Agent appraised him.

“Perhaps you’re still eager to please.”

As quickly as they’d been placed on him, the Agent’s hands were gone. Alexei felt the loss of them reverberate through him as he watched the taller man turn around and begin walking again, not looking back. With barely a second thought, he followed, this time wrapping his scarf messily around his face again.

They walked in silence, the whistle of the wind and distant sounds of snow vehicles the only accompaniment to their journey. It wasn’t too long before they came to a dingy motel, dimly lit sign advertising vacancies. Of course, every motel in the colonies was dingy, save for the ones along sightseeing routes which were marketed to snooty travellers from Earth coming to tour famous craters, faults, and landing sites. Or the fancy boutique hotels springing up in the business districts of the larger cities, near embassies and shit. Catering to the increased diplomatic traffic since the start of peace negotiations.

The Agent jiggled the handle of the door after keying in the code and it opened, creaking on old hinges. Alexei shut it behind him and hit the lock button as the entry-way light flicked on. Its anemic glow cast into the darkness of the room, illuminating the shapes of a hard-looking armchair, a desk against the wall, and beyond them a bed, neatly made. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow blocked his view.

Alexei looked up past all-black garb, into the long, blank face which had featured in so many dreams what felt like a lifetime ago now. It no longer looked like deliverance, and he wasn’t seeking redemption as he stepped closer, tilting his head up to cover thin lips with his own.

They traded kisses while stripping off outer layers. The Agent made quick work of the buttons down one side of his coat, folding it in half and tossing it to drape over the armchair. Alexei had already shucked his own to lay in a heap on the ground along with his scarf. Long arms reeled him in, and the warmth of a tongue breaching his mouth made him moan low and needy. The faint trace of vodka lingered on their mingling breaths. Renewed excitement seemed to flow through his veins.

Pressed front to front, the other man’s superior strength was made even more obvious. Hard muscle under tightly fitted insulating layers rippled beneath Alexei’s fingers. His mind was no longer on how to fight an opponent, though, distracted by an answering hardness rubbing up beside his own. He could feel himself being maneuvered further into the room as kisses got rougher, touches more consuming. Stealing a glance at the bed, he made one last mental calculation. It wasn’t likely to be very supportive, and breathing was always hardest lying flat.

He yanked the Agent down and smashed their mouths together with even more force as he backed his way over to the desk. When their lips parted again, he spun around and planted his hands on the top of the metal surface.

 _Thank fuck_ , he thought, feeling it sturdy beneath him, not wobbling as he pressed back up against the other man.

A tiny, almost unnoticeable gasp was the first reaction Alexei had managed to wring from the Agent. He rolled his hips, bringing his ass up along the length of the other man’s cock where it was trapped beneath the fabric of his pants, trying for another.

Instead, he let out one of his own at the feeling of a big hand cupping him again, then undoing his zipper and yanking down his pants without ceremony. His head swam pleasantly with good booze and even better touch as one of the Agent’s gloved hands closed around him. One stroke and then another of delicious pressure and firm friction, making his mouth fall open. The sound of another zipper coming down and the rustling of fabric seemed distant behind him, until he felt the hot, solid length of the other man’s cock come to rest along the cleft of his ass.

Lips on his neck and the press of the Agent’s arousal against him—thrusting slightly back and forth between his cheeks—were all he could focus on, then. He braced himself against the desk, keeping his body at an angle which let his breath come easier. For a few moments, it was all sweet stimulation.

He heard the snap of a cap opening, and the tell-tale sound of a tube being squeezed before he felt cool, slick, leather-clad fingers press against him. He didn’t know and didn’t care where the Agent had dug that lube up from so quickly. He just pressed back against the methodical motions of long fingers, grunting a bit, trying to relax around them as quickly as possible.

Perhaps taking the hint, or perhaps just more impatient than his careful touch suggested, the Agent slicked his cock quickly and began to press in.

Huffing breaths out sharp and quick, Alexei focused on the feeling of pressure pushing up and into him. The vodka took the edge off, and it quickly opened into sheer pleasure as the Agent pressed deeper. Less girthy than Abel, it didn’t take long to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion, despite how long it had been since he’d done this. He was actually a little surprised how easy it was, considering the pain and tightness that he experienced so frequently in his upper abdomen with even small amounts of exertion.

 _I can’t even feel that right now_ , he thought, _Thank fuck._

The Agent was considerate, pausing once he’d bottomed out. Alexei only took a moment before experimentally rolling his hips, throwing his head back with the intense sensation. He bit down on a yelp when he felt the sharp pull of a hand gripping the back of his hair. Held in place by one hand, the other—still tacky with lube—fell to the back of his hip.

The Agent began to move, as calm and steady as he seemed to do everything. Hand on Alexei’s hip steadying him, guiding their bodies together and apart again. That delicious push and pull. Little shivers travelled from the base of his spine up to the skin stretched tight at the back of his skull. He could practically smell the skin-warmed leather that rubbed against his neck, tickling the ends of his hair.

Their conjoined shadow made grotesque contortions on the wall, lit from behind as they were by the single overhead bulb by the door. A dark, writhing shape travelling back and forth along the rough plaster walls, temporarily obscuring cracks and rough patches in the poorly maintained surface.

The Agent began to thrust quicker, and the desk beneath Alexei trembled slightly as he braced against it. The other man’s rhythm remained smooth and constant, even as he upped the pace.

It was hard and fast and impersonal; all their clothes still on, never looking at each other. A nicer place might have had a mirror on the wall here above the desk, but Alexei was happier without having to see everything.

The idea of watching himself get fucked might have been enticing if it were Abel behind him instead—staring back with warm brown eyes, pupils blown wide with that lusty look he’d gotten every time they’d switched things up, that shy excitement. Alexei pushed the image from his mind.

 _Why does it always have to be fucking Abel?_ Memories of the man haunted him like ghosts or illusions; passing over everything but completely insubstantial.

Thankfully, this wasn’t soft and sweet and touchy-feely. It was still shy of rough, but given his pathetic condition he probably couldn’t have handled rough, anyway. It was just what he wanted right now. No endearments, not even really any dirty talk. Just the beat of their bodies slamming together, interspersed with low grunts and a bit of panting here and there. Just sex. Scratching an itch. A biological imperative.

Just two men who’d met at a bar having a one-night stand. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. It felt so… normal.

Alexei was torn from his thoughts by the feeling of his insulating shirt being pushed up, and the Agent’s previously constant tempo slowing slightly. No doubt gawking at the garish scarring on his back, left by the entry wound of the blaster.

He bucked his hips with a growl to get the other man’s focus back on what they were doing. The Agent resumed his thrusting as if nothing had disturbed it in the first place, not making any remarks. Alexei had almost managed to forget it, until a moment later when he felt the gentle caress of a gloved hand down the skin of his back. The sensation became numb and indistinct over the mass of gnarled scar tissue where he’d been shot. It was the closest to an apology he was going to get.

He grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to focus on his body’s response to the other man’s cock hitting home inside him instead. The molten arousal pooling low in his pelvis. The way his own dick ached for more touch.

He didn’t even need to ask. The Agent’s hand moved from where it had returned to his hair, leaving a trail of prickly tingles in its wake. The worn, soft leather wrapped around him, grip almost too tight as it stroked up and down his length. Alexei moaned a deep, guttural moan as the Agent gave a twist with his wrist at the top of the next stroke, swirling his foreskin around the head of his cock.

His already shallow breaths grew shallower, panting fast as he got closer and closer. The Agent was thrusting slightly slower—in counterpoint to the stroke of his hand—but harder now. Each snap of his hips carefully angled to send sparks exploding up behind Alexei’s eyelids.

With a keening whine he came, then collapsed onto his forearms across the desk, lungs working hard for breath. He gasped at a sudden emptiness when the Agent pulled out of him, and felt hot ropes of the other man’s release splatter over his exposed lower back. He dropped his head to his arms, still panting hard; chest working hard but still not getting enough air. He felt some tissue being dragged over the come pooling in the dip of his spine. Not that he could be bothered in the moment to care.

Alexei had barely reached something like coherence again—breathing finally evening out—when he was startled by the quiet slap of soiled leather gloves being haphazardly tossed on the desk next to him. By the time he’d pushed himself up, his muscles finally started to complain again.

 _They’ll probably be a real bitch tomorrow_ , he mused to himself, dreading the fallout of his impulsive decisions. 

He’d only just turned around to pull his pants up, but the Agent was already looking fully composed. The tall man had donned his coat again, and was picking up a small, nondescript travel bag sitting next to the door. Alexei hadn’t even noticed it on his way in.

“Checkout for this room is eleven hundred hours,” said the Agent, focused on the screen of a small tablet, not even looking at Alexei as he added, “Feel free to stay until then.”

“Where the fuck are you going?”

The Agent actually turned his head just enough to glance sideways at him.

“To work,” he said, opening the door, “Have a good life, Alexei Ilyinsky.”

END


End file.
